To Catch a Killer, Sequel
by Zan1781
Summary: What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to To Catch a Killer.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I haven't written a CSI fanfic in almost three years, so I'm not sure how this will turn out. I also haven't watched the show in years, but I'm going to try my hardest not to make any mistakes (I just bought seasons 8, 9, and 10, and will soon be caught up). In any event, I really liked Timmy when I wrote _To Catch a Killer_, and thought that I'd like to see how his relationship with the team has advanced. You will probably want to read _To Catch a Killer_ first, as this story may not make sense without it… it isn't that long, promise. But hopefully you will find the sequel somewhat entertaining!

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers: **Anything up through season 11.

**Summary: **What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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Sara stared at Greg across the breakroom table, a serious expression on her face. "We have to tell him, you know. Don't you think he'd prefer to hear it from us?"

"I don't know," Greg nervously drummed his fingertips on the table. "It's been two and a half years, Sara. Do you know how often Tim has talked about him?"

"Yeah, and the answer is never," Sara confirmed. "Never, because I think he's afraid. The Smiths think he'll take the news better from us, so I say we should go for it. You know how much he loves your banana walnut pancakes," she tried to smirk. "Maybe we can take him back to your place and make him some dinner, and then have the talk with him then."

"I guess so," Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. "His OCD is going to go through the roof, though."

"I know," Sara nodded. "It's been awhile since he's been hit hard with an attack, but I think the stress might throw him into a tailspin. He's going to need us, perhaps now more than ever before."

"And we'll be there for him, just like we always are," Greg added. "Would you mind grabbing him from the front desk while I finish getting my things together?"

"No problem," Sara got to her feet, still gazing at Greg. "But he'll be okay, you know. He's a trooper."

"I know," Greg flashed her a weak smile before heading off down the hallway.

Twenty minutes later, Sara was walking through the reception area when she heard the front doors loudly open.

"Hey, Sara!" Timmy enthusiastically ran through the opening, immediately heading toward the tall brunette when he spotted her by the reception desk. "How are ya?"

"Hey, Tim," Sara flashed the thirteen year old boy a huge grin, holding out her arms to him as he approached her. "I'm good, how about you, honey?" she asked him.

"I'm great," Tim smiled, holding out his hand to Sara rather than giving her a big hug like he always did. "I'm too old to hug, though," he winked.

"I see," Sara laughed, shaking his hand instead. "So how did your midterms go?"

"Awesome!" Tim pulled out the crumpled first page of his United States history exam, holding it up for her to inspect. "I got the highest grade in my class," he proudly explained, pointing out the 98%.

"I knew you could do it," Sara smiled, glancing down the hallway toward the CSI offices. "Want to walk with me while we find Greg?"

"Sure," Timmy slung his knapsack over his shoulder, conspiratorially peeking up at her as they walked. "Don't tell him this, but I kinda failed my math test. I just don't get the material," he mumbled in embarrassment.

"It's okay, honey," Sara murmured, gazing over at the young boy. "But Greg is pretty smart, you know. He could probably help you figure out what you need to know."

"Yeah, but he'll be disappointed in me," Timmy shrugged, breaking out into an ear-to-ear grin the moment that he saw his big brother at the end of the hallway.

Although not biological brothers, Sara referred both Greg and Timmy to the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program several years ago, after they wrapped up the case involving Timmy's family. Both guys were extremely happy with the match, and both were benefitting from their brotherly relationship. Sara was equally as happy with the match, because it gave her the chance to interact with them both.

"Tim, Greg could never be disappointed in you, just as long as you try your best. None of us could ever be disappointed in you," she finally told him.

Timmy gave Sara a noncommittal shrug, bounding off down the hallway to catch up to Greg. "Hey!" he greeted him.

"Hi there, Squirt," Greg set his papers aside, giving him a giant hug. "So what's the scoop, how'd your tests go?" Sara smiled at the hug, glad that Timmy hadn't _fully_ outgrown them just yet.

"I got a 98% on history," Timmy replied, proudly giving him the midterm exam. "I _told _you I knew that stuff!"

"Yeah you did," Greg chuckled, high-fiving him. "How'd you do with the math and science?" he headed toward the breakroom with Sara and Timmy in tow.

"Well—" Timmy cleared his throat. "I did okay, I guess," he stared at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with Greg.

"How okay?" Greg popped some change into the vending machine, handing Timmy a diet soda.

"… I failed the math," Timmy mumbled, flopping down onto the couch. "I tried, Greg, but I just screwed up! I _really _tried my hardest!" _One, two_, _three, four, _he thought to himself, inwardly frowning at his counting OCD symptom. Although he didn't count or repeat things as often as he used to, the symptoms always appeared when he was anxious or emotional.

"I'm sure you did, Squirt," Greg smiled at his little brother. "Tell you what. Why don't you and I start spending some quality studying time together? Maybe a couple of times a week until you understand what's going on in class?"

"...You would do that for me?" Tim asked, his eyes widening when Greg took a seat beside him. _One, two, three, four._

"Of course I would," Greg chuckled. "And I bet Sara would, too."

"Of course," Sara confirmed, leaning against the wall. "Hey, Tim?" she then cleared her throat. "Greg and I were hoping that you would have dinner with us tonight. Greg promised to make his famous banana walnut pancakes."

"And then can we play wii Sports Resort?" he asked.

"Sure," Greg agreed. "It'll be fun."

"Or bowling?" Tim persisted.

"Whatever you want, Squirt. But I'm hungry, so what do you say we head out?" Greg smiled.

"Okay," Timmy shrugged. "But are you sure you two aren't mad at me for failing the math test?"

Both Sara and Greg wrapped an arm around Timmy's shoulders as they headed back toward the front of the lab. "We're positive," Sara smiled.

"Ditto," Greg told him.

Glancing at each other over the top of Timmy's head, Sara frowned. This was going to be a tough night, made only more difficult by the fact that Timmy's bank robbing father would soon be back in his life. For good.

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TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you so much for your warm welcomes back to CSI! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers: **Anything up through season 11.

**Summary: **What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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"Is anyone going to help me with the pancakes?" Greg glanced at both Sara and Timmy, waiting for the pan to heat up enough to pour the batter.

"We _could_," Sara comfortably lounged on the couch, Timmy in a plush chair across the room from her. "But then they wouldn't be _your_ famous banana walnut pancakes, now would they?" she pursed her lips, trying not to laugh.

Greg rolled his eyes in amusement. "That's the lamest excuse for getting out of kitchen duty that I've ever heard," he teased. "Well at least tell me this much, then. Should I use a lot of bananas and walnuts? Or just a few of each?"

"A lot," Tim replied, opening up his math book so that he could study while he was waiting for dinner. And then after a moment, "Sara?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"Can I borrow your cell phone for a minute?" he nervously asked.

"What for?" Sara inquired, digging it out of her pocket anyhow.

"I wanted to text something to Grissom," he smiled. "I've been practicing my French, and I wanted to see how he's doing."

"Sure," Sara tossed the phone over. "I'm sure he'd love to hear from you. But make sure you let him know that it's you, and not me, doing the texting," she winked, standing up and moving toward the kitchen to help Greg. "Speed dial number 2," she reminded Timmy.

"'Kay," he murmured in concentration, flipping the phone open. _Hey Grissom, it's Timmy. Parlez-vous François?_ he texted.

"How are the pancakes coming?" Sara leaned over Greg's shoulder to peer into the skillet.

"They're coming along," he shrugged, waiting for the tiny bubbles to appear in the batter, letting him know that it was time to flip the pancakes. "So how are we going to do this?"

"We'll just tell him straight out," Sara murmured. "I think it's probably the best way," she added, glancing over at the couch where Timmy was eagerly awaiting a reply from her husband. "Do you want to do it? Or would you like me to?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Greg played with the unused batter as he continued to watch the making pancakes. "But I will say that Timmy has told me numerous times that you remind him of his mother, whom he loved very much. He might take it better from you."

"Hey, guys," Timmy interrupted them. "Grissom's French is improving!" Scrolling through the rest of the message, he then glanced up at Sara. "And he wants to know how you're doing."

"Please tell him pas mal, or not bad," she couldn't help but laugh. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, though, so why don't you go wash up?"

"Okay," Timmy finished his return text, leaving the phone on the couch. Seconds later, he disappeared down the hallway to use the bathroom sink.

"So I guess I'll just start the conversation, and you can fill in what you want to," Sara quietly continued, leaning against the counter. "How do you think he'll take the news?"

"Not sure," Greg expertly flipped several of the pancakes, his attention focused on the stove. "But I'm not going to lie, Sar, I'm worried about him."

"What'cha guys talking about?" Timmy padded back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

"Nothing, Squirt," Greg placed six of the large pancakes on a plate, setting them all down in the middle of the table.

"Is it my math test?" Tim frowned. "I _knew _you guys were disappointed in me." _One, two, three, four._

"We are definitely not disappointed, Tim," Sara smiled, grabbing the syrup, butter, and milk, from the refrigerator. "Besides, I know a bunch of pretty smart people who failed some important tests in their lives."

"Yup," Greg agreed, sitting down at the table. "I actually failed my field proficiency test to become a CSI," he admitted, digging into his dinner.

"So how did you eventually pass it?" Timmy wanted to know, taking a sip of his milk.

"My friends helped me study," Greg smiled at his little brother. "Friends can make the difference, Squirt. Like I said, though, Sara and I will help you through math. She has a degree in physics, and I'm just smart," he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

"You're both smart," Timmy pointed out. "But I think Grissom might be smarter."

"Hey!" Sara laughed.

"Not cool, buddy," Greg fake-frowned.

"I was just kidding," Tim took one final bite of his pancake, pushing the entire plate away. "Those were pretty good, Greg. Thanks for having me over for dinner tonight."

"No problem, Squirt," Greg started to clear the table, glancing over at Sara for a moment.

Sara nodded, also getting to her feet. "Timmy, Greg and I _do_ want to talk to you about something else, though," she quietly said, leading the young boy back to the living room. "Greg will join us in a second, but go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

"What's wrong?" Timmy immediately asked, sitting down in his customary chair. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, you didn't, honey," Sara perched herself on the edge of the couch. "But something has come up, and we needed you to be aware of it."

"Is it my family?" _One, two, three, four._ "Are they okay?" he felt his anxiety, and thus his OCD, starting to grow worse.

"They're fine," Sara tried to assure him that his adoptive family was safe, sighing in relief when Greg finished what he was doing and took a seat beside her.

"It's about your father, honey," she gently continued.

"What about him?" Timmy gazed at her in confusion and nervousness. _Your little boy will be next. One, two, three, four. One, two, three four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next._

Sara kept her voice as steady and calm as she possibly could, hoping that her tone would help keep Timmy calm. "We wanted you to know that your dad will be getting out of jail at the end of the week, and that he might want to see you."

"No," Tim's face immediately paled, as he shifted from side to side in agitation. "But I don't _want _to see him," he whispered, his shifting now turning into rocking.

"I know, Squirt," Greg kept his gaze riveted to Timmy's face. "I know that you're scared, but it will be okay."

"But your little boy will be next!" he reminded both Greg and Sara, his eyes prickling with tears. "Your little boy will be next!" he repeated, rocketing out of his chair and lunging at Sara in a matter of moments.

Greg and Sara exchanged concerned looks. Both CSIs had expected the OCD to return full-force, but neither had expected Timmy to revert back to statements from years ago. They both realized at the same time that the statements were connected to the memories, and that Timmy was clearly panicked by his father's imminent return.

"You're going to be okay, Timmy," she whispered, tightly wrapping her arms around his now slightly shaking body. "Greg and I aren't going to let anything happen to you," she gently rubbed his back. "And neither are Nick or Catherine."

"But your little boy will be next," he whispered, burying his face in the crook of Sara's neck. "Are you sure you aren't mad at me about the math test?" he suddenly asked, tears sliding down his cheeks.

It wasn't that Timmy was necessarily afraid of his father, although there was certainly that. It was just that thinking of his imprisoned father also conjured up memories of his mother being murdered, and of the traumatic events from several years ago.

"We're positive, honey," Sara murmured, slowly running her fingers through Timmy's hair. "You've done nothing wrong."

"Okay," Timmy sniffled, climbing up onto the couch between Greg and Sara. Leaning against Sara's shoulder, he tried to burrow his face into her side. "I'm scared," he admitted. _One, two, three, four, your little boy will be next, goodbye!_

"About what, Squirt?" Greg asked, even though he pretty much knew. He just thought it might help for Timmy to talk about it.

"Well what if my father tries to take me away from you, or from the Smiths? I don't want to stop being your brother."

"That isn't going to happen, buddy," Greg quietly told him, gently squeezing his shoulder. "You're going to be just fine, and you'll always be my little brother."

"Four?" he then timidly asked.

_Oh no_, Sara thought to herself, having a sneaking suspicion that she knew where this was going. "Four what, honey?" she hesitantly asked.

"…Can we have four cookies?" he meekly asked. "I like the number four."

"Yeah, we can get you four cookies," Greg quietly replied, exchanging another concerned look with Sara.

"Okay," Timmy mumbled, slipping his hand into Sara's. "Thanks."

Greg got to his feet, meandering back to the kitchen to fetch the cookies. Before he was able to return to the living room, however, his cell phone rang. "Sanders," he absent-mindedly replied, tossing the package of cookies onto the couch as he held the phone up to his ear. "How did you get this number?" he whispered, immediately walking away from the living room so that no one else could hear the call.

Sara caught Greg's tone of voice, her head swiveling to keep track of him.

"Don't you ever call here again," he angrily—yet quietly—hissed, hanging up the phone.

"I'll be right back, Tim," Sara kissed the top of his head, attempting to extricate herself from his grasp.

"No!" Timmy screamed, clutching Sara's arm. "It's him, I know it is!"

_Was it him? _Sara mouthed to Greg.

Greg simply nodded yes, his own face a bit on the pale side.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**Thanks again to everyone who's reading this. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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After having called Jim, Greg nervously retook his seat beside Sara, a look of utter panic on his face. He had just been threatened by Timmy's father, and aside from calling the police, he had no idea what to do next.

Not even five minutes later, his doorbell rang, causing everyone—including both Sara and Timmy—to jump.

"Where are you going, Greg?" Timmy whispered from his place on the couch when he noticed his big brother shifting in his seat. _One, two, three, four._ _Yellow is my favorite color. One, two, three, four._

"I've got to answer the door, Squirt," he replied, hesitantly getting to his feet when he heard the doorbell ring for the second time in as many minutes.

"But what if _he's_ at the door?" the little boy persisted, clinging to Sara's side as if his life depended on it. "I don't think you should let him in," he added. _One, two, three four, your little boy will be next._

Sara bit her lower lip, gazing at Greg. "It's probably just J—" she started to say, before the chirping of her cell phone cut her off. Glancing down at the screen, she sighed. "It's Jim." Flipping it open, she exhaled a puff of nervous air. "Please tell me you're at the door," she quietly murmured into the phone. "You are? Thank goodness. It's safe, Greg," she hung up her phone and stuffed it back into her pocket.

"But you shouldn't let him in either," Timmy pointed out. "If you do, my father might slip in with him." _One, two, three, four._

"Your dad is still in jail, honey," Sara reminded him, gently rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. "You're completely safe with us."

"Well if that's true, then why did you and Greg invite Jim over?" Tim frowned. "Jim wouldn't be here unless something was wrong."

_Smart kid_, Greg mouthed to Sara, returning to the living room with Jim right behind him. Kneeling down in front of his little brother, he sighed. "Jim is here to ask us some questions and to look around," he quietly explained. "But you're still safe," he repeated.

_One, two, three four, your little boy will be next. One, two, three, four, goodbye. _"You've never lied to me before," Timmy mumbled, "So I guess I believe you," he again tried to burrow his way into Sara's side. "But what if you're wrong? I'm _really _scared, Greg,"

"He's not wrong, Timmy," Jim tried to assure him, taking a seat in the chair across from the couch. "I just have some routine questions for you, and then I'll need to talk to Sara and Greg for a few minutes."

"Okay," Timmy whispered, his eyes prickling with tears. "Are you sure you guys aren't mad at me about my math test? I'm _really _sorry that I failed it," he added, hating the fact that his brain felt like it was on fire.

"No one's mad at you over the test, buddy," Greg rested his hand on Timmy's knee, moving to sit beside him and Sara. "Promise."

"Timmy," Jim cleared his throat, turning to a fresh page in his notepad. "Have you heard from your father at all?"

Timmy shook his head no, looking up at Sara, and then Greg, for support and reassurance. _I like four cookies. Yellow is my favorite color. One, two, three, four. _Both of the CSIs smiled their encouragement, which made him feel slightly better.

"He hasn't tried to call or write to you since being in prison?" Jim tried again. 

"No," Timmy whispered. "Not really, anyhow. Why would he call Greg, though? My father's never killed anyone." _But you know that isn't true, and you know why he called! One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

Greg and Sara exchanged glances, both remembering Jason Marley's rap sheet. He had definitely been convicted of murder in the past. _Does he not know? _Sara asked herself, gently rubbing the little boy's back. _Or is he in denial?_

"What do you mean, 'not really?'" Jim continued, for now ignoring the other part of Timmy's question while scrawling a note in his notebook.

"He called me a few years ago, just after my mom… just after that man… just after…" he struggled to get the words out, his face scrunching up in pain and sorrow. Taking a deep breath, "He called me just after my mom was killed." _One, two, three, four, your little boy will be next._

"Why didn't you tell us, Squirt?" Greg quietly asked, peering at his brother. "That must have been pretty scary for you. You're not alone; you know that you can trust us with anything."

Timmy nodded his understanding. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. The phone call WAS scary, but I couldn't tell you the truth! _"I know, and I'm sorry," he meekly whispered. "I would have told you, but he was so very angry at me, and I didn't want to bother you." Grabbing Sara's arm, he more snuggly wrapped it around his shoulders.

Sara heavily swallowed. This didn't sound good at all. "Honey, you're _never _a bother to us," she told him. "Do you remember what your dad said to you?"

"Yes," Timmy whispered, "But I can't tell you. He'll kill me. Your little boy will be next, remember?" a few tears slid down his cheeks. "Your little boy will be next, and I really don't want to be next," he sniffled. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. I don't want to be next._

Handing him a tissue, Sara sadly frowned. "It would really help us if you could tell us what he said," she tried to keep her voice even and soothing. "I know that you're scared, but anything at all would be helpful, honey."

"I know," Timmy swallowed. "But he's really mad at me, which means he's probably pretty mad at you and Greg."

Sara, Greg, and Jim all exchanged concerned looks. This was _definitely _not going to be good.

"Why would your father be mad at you, Squirt?" Greg softly asked. "You haven't done anything wrong."

"Yes I have," Timmy looked up at Greg, the tears now streaming down his cheeks. "I did the worst thing ever: I destroyed my old family."

"Sweetheart," Sara murmured, pulling him into her lap. "You didn't destroy your family. You had no control over anything that happened. You were just a little boy, remember?"

Timmy let Sara slowly rock him back and forth, gazing at the wall as if lost in thought. "I told you about the safe," he finally reminded her. "And then I gave you the combination. My father used to tell me that family is the most important thing in the world, and I… I told you the combination." _One, two, three, four. Oklahoma looks like a frying pan. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four,_ he chanted over and over in his head, his anxiety growing exponentially worse by the moment.

"Oh, Squirt," Greg sighed, slowly rubbing his little brother's back. "Sara's right. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you did everything _right._"

Timmy again shook his head no, sniffling. "You don't understand," he maintained. "I'm wrong, because my dad is right: family is the most important thing in the world, and _you _guys are my family. It's going to be my fault if you die." _Don't tell them the truth! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! They'll hate you! One, two, three, four!_

"We're not going to die, Squirt," Greg gently replied, praying that he was actually speaking the truth.

"Yeah you are," Timmy's sniffling turned into sobs that wracked his tiny frame. "You are, and it's all going to be my fault!" _One, two, three four! Yellow is my favorite color! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! Your little boy will be next! One, two, three, four! _"When he called me, my father told me not to hang out with you and Sara any more, or he'd kill all of us when he got out of jail. I'm _sorry!_" he wailed, burying his face in the crook of Sara's neck. "He said that I'd done enough damage by giving you the combination to the safe, and that spending time with you would only make things worse!"

Greg gazed at Sara, his brown eyes widening in alarm.

Sara took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. She was just as worried as Greg was, but she didn't want Timmy to pick up on their fear. "He's not going to kill us, honey, and he's definitely not going to kill you." _He'll never hurt you, I can promise you that much._

"But don't you see?" Timmy continued. "I love you and Greg, and I was afraid to tell you about his call. I was afraid that you'd make me stop seeing you guys, and that you'd send me away to save your own lives. I didn't want that to happen," he whispered. _One, two, three, four. _"You're my family, not him, and family is the most important thing in the world. I was afraid to lose you, and so I didn't tell you!" _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"We love you, too, Tim," Sara soothingly murmured, still rocking him back and forth in her lap. "And we wouldn't have abandoned you because of his phone call. We love you, and we would have done anything to make you feel better." _Oh, honey. I wish you had just talked to us. We could have helped you deal with this. At least now I understand why you're as terrified as you are. You're scared, you feel guilty… you poor thing._

Greg nodded his agreement, gazing at Tim. "We're going to be okay," he told him. "I promise."

"No lies?"

"No lies, Squirt, everything's going to be just fine." _I hope._

Jim finished jotting down a few notes, throwing a look at both Sara and Greg. The situation had officially gone from bad to worse.

And then Greg's cell phone started to ring, with _Private _in lieu of the caller's name.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**Thanks again to everyone who's reading this. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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"You've gotta be kidding me," Greg said under his breath, looking up at Jim. "Again? Seriously? What the heck is this man's problem?"

Jim whipped out his walkie-talkie, holding up his finger to Greg to get him to wait a moment before answering his phone. "Dispatch, this is Captain Jim Brass. I need a trace on CSI Greg Sanders's cell phone immediately. And put one on CSI Sara Sidle's phone, while you're at it."

"What's going on, Sara?" Timmy whispered. _One, two, three, four. _"Is it him again? I know it is, and I'm _so _sorry! I didn't mean to make this happen!" he leaned into her side. _Your little boy will be next! One, two, three, four!_

"It's okay, honey, but I need you to be quiet for a moment," Sara softly replied, tilting her head toward the kitchen to get Greg to leave the room while he answered his phone. "Everything is going to be just fine, though."

Timmy nodded, resting his head against Sara's shoulder. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next!_

Greg quickly walked into the kitchen, flipping open his phone with Jim's permission. "… Hello?" he nervously asked.

"Hi, is Rosalind there?" a perky-sounding fifteen year old inquired.

"Uh—" Greg rubbed the back of his neck, sighing in relief. "I think you've got the wrong number, Miss. No Rosalind here."

"Sorry," the kid hung up in a huff.

Greg leaned against the kitchen sink, trying to take deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "False alarm," he murmured to Brass. "I don't think I can handle this, Jim," he then whispered. "I'm really worried."

"We'll figure this out," Jim tried to reassure the younger man. "I'll need to talk to you and Sara at some point, and Catherine, Ray, and Nick are also on their way over to do some perimeter checks. We want to make sure that you haven't had any uninvited house guests."

"See, honey?" Sara smiled down at Timmy from the living room, slowly running her fingers through his hair. "It was just a wrong number."

"Yeah, good," Timmy mumbled, climbing off of the couch. "Let's go see Greg, though," he waited for Sara to get up, holding out his hand to her. "I think he's scared. Yeah, he's definitely scared." _Yellow is my favorite color. One, two, three, four. Yellow is my favorite color, your little boy will be next!_

_I think we're all a little bit scared right now, _Sara mused, gently holding his hand as she led him to the kitchen.

"Greg?" Timmy whispered, running over to his big brother the moment that he saw him. "Are you okay?" _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next!_

"I'm okay, Squirt," Greg tried to muster up a smile, ruffling his hair. "How about you?"

Timmy shrugged. "I'm okay, just worried about my math test. You know… and whether or not you're mad at me," he stared at the ground in anxiety, before lunging at Greg in order to wrap his arms around him. Greg and Sara exchanged quick glances, knowing full-well that Timmy was perseverating about the math test because he was terrified about his father.

"We're not mad at you, honey," Sara took a seat at the kitchen table. "You can be certain about that."

"Yeah… I know. I'm just scared, I guess, and I'm having a hard time making my brain focus on what's really happening." _One, two, three, four, your little boy will be next!_

Sara was impressed that Timmy was starting to recognize how his OCD was affected by his moods. It was a big step for the little boy to make the connection between heightened fear and his increased symptoms. She was so impressed, in fact, that she didn't feel the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket until the missed call message came through. "Gil just called me," she informed both Greg and Jim.

"And now he's calling me," Brass chuckled when his own cell phone started chirping, with Grissom's name on the main screen. "Brass here."

"Jim? It's Gil," Sara could hear her husband's panicked voice through the phone. "Is everything okay with Sara?"

"Of course it is," he quirked an eyebrow in confusion. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because I just received a text message telling me that my wife was dead. I need to talk to her right now, please," Grissom's voice seemed strained.

Sara felt a chill settle over her body. "Did he just say what I think he just said?" she jumped to her feet, feeling the blood rush from her face.

Jim nodded an affirmative to her. "Hold on a second, Gil, and I'll give the phone to Sara. Timmy, why don't you take Greg over to the couch and have a seat?" he then suggested.

"No, I want to stay with Sara," Timmy whispered, knowing that something had just gone terribly wrong. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Come on, Squirt," Greg reached for his hand. "Sara will join us in a minute."

"I want to stay with Sara!" he anxiously repeated. _Your little boy will be next, and I don't wanna be next!_

"Go with Greg, honey, and I'll be there in a minute," Sara spoke up. "I need to speak with Gil right now, though," she grabbed the phone from Jim, placing a kiss on the top of Timmy's head. "Do you trust me, honey?"

"Uh-huh," Timmy nodded, wiping away his tears.

"Then go with Greg, and I'll be right there," she gave him a small smile.

"'Kay," Timmy reluctantly murmured, reaching for Greg's hand. Allowing himself to be led back over to the couch, he sniffled.

"Gil? Are you okay?" Sara tiredly asked, leaning against the kitchen table for support.

"No, I'm not alright," Grissom anxiously replied. "I just received a text message telling me that you were dead. What's going on?"

Sara sighed, closing her eyes. "Timmy's father is getting out of jail at the end of the week, and it would seem that he's gotten someone to emotionally terrorize those connected to his son."

"Why would he do that?" Grissom asked in confusion. "That makes no sense."

"The man is crazy, Gil. He doesn't need a reason to scare us, other than the fact that he's apparently mad at Timmy for giving us the combination to the safe years ago," she glanced up when Catherine, Ray, and Nick walked through the front door.

"So what else has he done?" Grissom asked, taking a deep breath to steady his fraying nerves.

Sara pursed her lips, not really sure how much she wanted to tell her husband. He would worry about her, for sure, but there was nothing that he could do to help them from Paris. "He had someone call Greg to scare us," she finally admitted.

"And?" Grissom prodded.

"And that's it," Sara again sighed. "Well, almost. According to Timmy, his father threatened to kill him, myself, and Greg, if he didn't stop interacting with us."

Grissom swallowed. "And I suppose it's pointless to point out that you and Greg are closer to Timmy now than ever before," he stated.

"Yeah, kind of," Sara pulled her legs up onto the chair, resting her chin on her knees. "But we'll be okay," she added. Grissom remained silent. "Gil, really, we'll be okay," she tried to reassure him. "Catherine, Ray, and Nick just got here to check the perimeter of Greg's apartment, and I'm sure Jim will be spending time trying to figure out how an inmate got a hold of the phone numbers for two CSIs."

"What about protection?" Grissom then asked. "Is Jim going to assign someone to protect the three of you?"

"I would assume so, yes," Sara partially smiled. "And knowing him, he'll probably assign us a couple of people."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't stay alone until this is all straightened out," her husband persisted.

"Well maybe Greg will let me bunk on his couch or something," Sara shrugged. "Jim might feel better having us in the same place anyhow."

Grissom took another deep breath, slowly exhaling. "I love you, Sara. You have no idea how I felt when I heard that you were dead. I don't—" he trailed off. "I can't—" he again tried to find the right words to adequately express his emotions.

"I know, Gil, and I promise we'll be careful," she gently told him, knowing exactly what he had been trying to tell her.

"Please be safe."

"I will," Sara smiled, "And I love you, too. I'll call you again tomorrow morning."

"Goodbye, dear," Grissom reluctantly murmured.

"Goodbye," Sara softly replied, closing her phone. Staring down at the table for a moment, she tried to collect her thoughts. Things seemed pretty bad to her, and she desperately wished that Grissom was at least in the same city.

Getting too her feet, Sara again sighed, and returned to the living room. "So what's the plan?" she asked Jim, nodding hello to her fellow CSIs. Taking a seat beside Timmy and Greg, she wrapped her arm around the little boy's shoulders. "Please tell me that you have a good one."

Jim simply nodded, starting to outline his thoughts.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**Thanks again to everyone who's reading this. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy. I also apologize for the delay in posting. Real life has been hectic over the past few months (I lost my job to state budget cuts and am in the last stages of planning my wedding). I will try to have this finished by May 21, though.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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"Sara?" Timmy whispered, looking up at her through tear-stained and red-rimmed eyes.

"What, honey?" the CSI absent-mindedly replied, trying to focus on the information that Jim had been trying to relay to them.

"I don't want to go back home tonight," he informed her. _One, two, three, four, your little boy will be next. _"Please don't make me leave, okay? I'm really scared, and I don't want to leave you."

Sara helplessly looked up at Jim, not sure where she herself would be spending the night. Would the Smiths even want their son to stay with her and Greg? No one could guarantee his safety, although she recognized the fact that he would probably be safer staying with the CSIs.

"I'd like Timmy to stay with you, actually," Jim looked over at both Sara and Greg. "I can protect the three of you better if you're all together."

"… But we don't need protection," Timmy pointed out. "My father would never hurt us." _Family is the most important thing! Your little boy will be next! One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Yellow is my favorite color!_

Sara didn't have the heart to contradict the little boy's statement, so she simply wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Would you like to stay here tonight if your parents don't mind?" she gently asked him.

"Uh-huh," Timmy replied, nibbling around the edges of a cookie. "I like four."

"Four cookies, we know, honey," Sara slowly ran her fingers through his hair in the hopes of soothing him; she had the sneaking suspicion that he was exhausted and emotionally drained from the events of the past day, and she was concerned that his anxiety level was getting too high... not that she could blame him for his fear.

"I'll take care of everything with the Smiths," Jim spoke up. "And I'll put a unit on their home just in case."

Sara nodded her appreciation, not really sure how to ask her next question; she was extremely concerned about the safety of Timmy, Greg, and herself.

As if reading her mind, Jim tried to smile. "I'll also have two units on the street tonight, and I'll be staying here for the next couple of days."

"Good thing I did laundry," Greg tried to joke. "We're going to have a crowded place tonight."

Resting his head on Sara's shoulder, Timmy yawned. "I'm tired and scared," he admitted to the group, "And about more than just my failed math test. What happens if my dad comes here? Did you know that yellow is my favorite color?" _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Yellow is my favorite color, too," Sara automatically replied, glancing around the room as Catherine, Nick, and Ray all returned from their investigative work outside.

"He's not going to, Timmy," Jim firmly replied. "He won't be coming anywhere near you."

"The perimeter is clear," Catherine spoke up. "No surprising prints, nothing out of place or out of the ordinary."

"Everything looks just like it always does," Nick agreed.

"Good," Brass nodded his appreciation. "Thanks for checking it out."

"What sort of security is Timmy's father under?" Greg cautiously asked, wishing that his little brother would just go to bed so that he and his colleagues could all speak candidly with one another about the situation without him overhearing or worrying any more than necessary.

"Maximum," Jim unhesitatingly replied.

"So he won't be able to escape?" Timmy asked the one question that Sara really wanted to know the answer to.

"No, he won't be able to escape," Brass smiled at the thirteen year old. "Right now, your dad is locked up tighter than a drum."

Timmy nodded his understanding, burrowing further into Sara's side. "I'm really tired," he repeated his earlier statement, "But I think I might be too scared to sleep." _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next!_

Sara glanced down at her watch, noting how late it truly was. "Would you like Greg to help you get ready for bed?" she gently asked, gazing down at the little boy. "Maybe if you get ready and then get into bed, you'll just naturally fall asleep."

Timmy nodded, a small frown on his face. "And then you'll come say goodnight to me? And you'll check on me during the night? And maybe help me study for my math test?"

"Of course," Sara smiled her reply, helping Timmy climb off of the couch. "At least for your first two questions; no math while you're sleeping. Make sure to brush your teeth and wash your face, though," she instructed him.

"But I don't have my toothbrush," Timmy pointed out.

"Then use your finger," Sara seriously told him. "Teeth and face, and then straight to bed."

"But where will I sleep?" he worriedly asked. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Yellow is my favorite color, your little boy will be next!_

"You can use the bed in the guest bedroom." Greg informed his little brother, leading him down the hallway to the bathroom.

"Are you sure you aren't mad at me about the math test?" Sara could hear him ask as he and Greg disappeared down the hallway.

Once Timmy was gone, Sara deeply sighed. "So there will be officers on the street?" she asked Brass.

Jim nodded. "And I'll be staying here, too. I really think he's just trying to scare you guys," he admitted.

"I know," Sara pulled her legs up onto the couch, leaning back against the cushion. "And it's working."

Glancing down at her own watch, Catherine frowned. "We need to get back to the lab, but please keep us posted."

"Thanks, and we will," Sara mustered a smile for Catherine, Nick, and Ray, watching them as they left the apartment. "But I'm still scared, Jim."

"I know you are, but things will be okay," he quietly replied. "We just have to wait this thing out."

"I hate waiting," Sara murmured, getting to her feet when Greg returned to the living room. "All set?" she asked him.

"He's minty fresh and ready for bed," Greg plopped down onto the couch.

"Thanks," Sara half-smiled as she walked down the hallway to Timmy's bedroom.

"Sara?" the little boy whispered to her the moment that she entered the room.

"What, honey?"

"I'm really scared," he told her, gazing up at her. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Sara gently brushed Timmy's hair out of his eyes. "I know, honey, and so am I. But I trust Jim, and I know that he'll take good care of us."

"And you'll take good care of me? And you aren't mad at me? Sorry," he immediately mumbled under his breath.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Tim," Sara murmured. "I know how scared you are right now, and I know that your OCD is making it hard for you to focus on what's going on. But I promise to take good care of you, and neither Greg nor I am upset with you. If anything, we're very proud of you."

"Why?" Timmy asked in surprise.

"You're brave," Sara simply told him, "And a survivor. Look how far you've come in the past few years in terms of dealing with your OCD."

"Yeah," Tim mused, his eyes slipping closed. "I guess I'm doing better with that. And yellow is my favorite color."

"Mine too," Sara leaned over to place a gentle kiss on the little boy's forehead. "Call if you need me."

"M'kay," Timmy replied, somehow managing to fall into an easy sleep despite everything that was going on.

Sara quietly exited the room, leaving the door slightly ajar for the young boy in case he needed her during the night.

Returning to the living room, she flashed both Greg and Brass a tired smile. "We all set for the night, guys?" she asked them both.

"I think so, yeah," Greg replied, getting to his feet. "You can sleep in my room, Sara, and I'll take one of the couches. There are fresh sheets in the linen closet at the end of the hallway."

"Thanks," Sara murmured her appreciation, trudging off in that direction.

Twenty minutes later, she slipped between the cool sheets, ready for some much needed rest.

And twenty minutes after that, she was awoken by the shrill ring of her cell phone alerting her to an incoming private call.

Groaning, Sara answered the phone. "Sidle."

"Well hello there, Miss Sidle," Jason Marley's voice came through the speaker. "Surprise! Guess who just broke out of jail?"

Sara's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"No guesses? You're no fun," he smirked into the phone. "Well sit tight, little lady, I'm on my way to collect my son. He's next, after all."

"Over my dead body," Sara quickly clamored out of bed and down the hall to grab Jim and Greg.

"That can certainly be arranged," he calmly retorted.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**Thanks again to everyone who's reading this. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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Sara ran into the living room, her eyes wide with alarm. "Why are you doing this to him?" she hissed at Jason over the phone. "He's your son, and he's been traumatized enough as it is!"

Jim immediately sat bolt upright, making a call on his own cell phone. Turning to Sara, he made a motion with his fingers to get her to keep on talking.

"He wouldn't have been traumatized if he had only remembered what I tried to teach him: family is the most important thing."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sara started pacing the floor between the kitchen and the couch. "If family is the most important thing, shouldn't you be leaving him alone right about now? Don't you think he's been through enough as it is?"

Jason couldn't help but laugh at that. "He gave you the combination to the safe, did he not?"

"Yeah, after his mother was murdered right in front of him!" Sara protested. "How can you hold a little boy accountable for that?"

"Sara, Sara, Sara, may I call you Sara?" Jason asked.

"No," she ground her teeth.

"Sara," he continued, "His mother died protecting the safe, just like he should have. My son is—" he trailed off. "Well, he'll soon learn what happens to people when family is no longer the most important thing in the world."

"If you touch a single hair on his head, so help me God," Sara angrily replied, desperately trying to keep her voice down so as not to wake Timmy. "If you hurt him—" she tried again, unsure of what to say.

"You'll what?" Jason laughed. "And by the way, can you please tell Captain Jim Brass that he won't be able to trace this call, and not to worry about finding me anyhow, because I'll be there shortly?"

"But—" Sara started to say, her words halting when she heard Timmy's hesitant footsteps approaching from the other end of the hallway.

"Sara?" Timmy whispered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he padded along. "What's going on?" he asked, stopping directly in front of her. "Are you mad at me? Your face is very red, and you look very upset. I _told _you we should have studied math tonight." _Yellow is my favorite color! One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Aww, is that my little brat of a kid?" Jason smiled into the phone. "That kid is more problems than he's worth. Have you noticed his craziness yet?"

"Greg," Sara motioned to her coworker and friend, who looked just as scared as she herself felt. "Take him somewhere."

"No!" Timmy stared up at her face. "Just tell me what I did wrong! Please!" _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next!_

"You haven't done anything wrong, honey," Sara murmured, lightly brushing his cheek with the tips of her fingers. "But I need you to go with Greg right now, okay?"

"No, it's _not _okay! Not until you tell me what's wrong! I already said I was sorry about the math test!" And then he noticed the panicked look on Sara's face, followed by the fact that her knuckles were white from gripping the phone so tightly. "It's him, isn't it?" he whispered, all color draining from his face. _Family is the most important thing. Your little boy will be next! _"Will I be next?"

Without thinking, Sara immediately hung up her phone, tossing it aside. "It'll be okay, Timmy. We're all going to be just fine," she murmured over and over again, not even sure if she believed her own words.

Greg heavily sat down on the couch, watching Sara and Timmy with a shell-shocked expression on his face. Things were quickly going from bad to worse, and he had no idea what to do about it.

"Jim," Sara tried to remain calm. "Marley said he was on his way over here. We need to get out of here immediately."

Jim rubbed his ear, a frown on his face. "I'm not sure that moving all of you right now is the best idea."

"But he said that he was coming over here," Sara repeated, pulling Timmy into her lap.

"He won't hurt us," Timmy insisted, gazing up at Sara's face. "He won't. He would never hurt me." _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next!_

"Timmy, honey," Sara helplessly looked over at Greg for help.

"I'm sorry, Squirt," Greg hesitated for a moment. "But we have to be extra careful. We don't want to take any chances with your life." _Or ours_.

"I know," Timmy sniffled, burying his head in the crook of Sara's neck. "He's not a nice man, you're right. I just… family is the most important thing, and you're my family now." _Oklahoma looks like a frying pan, yellow is my favorite color. One, two, three, four._

Sara slowly ran her fingers through Timmy's hair, glancing up at Brass. "So what do we do now, Jim? If it isn't safe to move us, and if it isn't safe to stay here—"

"You'll be just fine here," Jim pulled out a walkie-talkie, communicating with one of the officers down the road. "We've got all entrances to the apartment covered, and we'll know the moment that Marley steps foot anywhere near here."

"He's smart, though," Timmy pointed out, staring out the window. "But maybe not as smart as Grissom. We should call Grissom, shouldn't we? Maybe he won't be mad at me about my math test." _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"No, we're not going to bother Grissom with this," Sara anxiously replied. "He's busy right now."

"But he'll want to know that you're scared!" Timmy persisted.

"That's precisely why we won't be calling him. I don't want him to worry about me."

"But—"

"No, Tim," Sara interjected, her tone harsher than she meant it to be; she was just tired, her nerves were frayed, and she was having a difficult time remaining calm given their current predicament.

Timmy's face fell as he moved so that he was now sitting beside Greg. _I knew you were mad at me_, he inwardly muttered to himself. _I should just learn to shut up, even though yellow is my favorite color._

"I'm sorry, Timmy," Sara sighed. "Really, honey, I'm not mad at you. I'm just—" she started to say, jumping as something crashed through one of the living room's windows.

"Get down! Everybody get down!" Jim yelled, his gun already out of its holster as he wildly scanned the room for any signs of an intruder. "What the hell is going on around here?"

"SARA!" Timmy screamed in fear, hitting the ground hard as Greg's body moved to cover his. "SARA!" _ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR._

"I'm right here," Sara crawled toward Greg and Timmy, starting to feel a little bit dizzy as her body was suddenly wracked with coughs and her throat felt like it was tightening up.

"Hello all," a gleeful voice, muffled by a gas mask, interrupted the sounds of everyone's coughing. "Sara, I believe you and Timothy will be coming with me. Nice to meet you, by the way," he added. "And Timothy? Long time no see, Kiddo."

The last thing that Sara registered before passing out was being slung over Jason Marley's shoulder.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Your little boy will be next._

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**My apologies for the long delays between chapters; I've been busy job hunting and putting the finishing touches on my wedding. I hope to have this story (and my other works in progress) all completed by my wedding date of May 21. Thanks again to everyone who has been reading this. Hopefully you will continue to enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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The first thing that Sara noticed when she finally awoke was the pain in her wrists from her bindings. The second thing that she noticed was the metallic taste in her mouth leftover from whatever Jason had used to drug her. And the third thing that she noticed was Timmy's shaking body clinging to her own.

"What—?" she groggily asked, her head lolling to the side as her vision momentarily swam. "S'on?"

"Sara?" Timmy whispered, fearfully trying to study her face despite the extreme darkness of their present location.

"Where?" she tried a different question.

"Oklahoma looks like a frying pan," he informed her, licking his very dry lips. Reaching a tentative hand out to Sara's body, Timmy reached for her hand, trying to clutch it in his own. "Did you know that Oklahoma looks like a frying pan?" _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

Sara tried to blink away her confusion, attempting to remember what had happened to them and where they now were. She didn't know _anything_, though, aside from the fact that she and Timmy appeared to be in a moving vehicle.

"Are you mad at me?" Timmy whispered, trying to swallow back his fear as he gripped her hand even more tightly. _Your little boy will be next. Your little boy will be next. Your little boy will be next. Family is the most important thing._

"N-no," Sara mumbled, trying to moisten her lips so that she could answer him. "Where are we?"

"Um—" Timmy frowned, scrunching up his face in thought. "I don't know, exactly," he finally shrugged, "But I think we're on an expressway: we haven't stopped very much, and I haven't felt many bumps. Oh, and we're locked in the trunk." _Yellow is my favorite color. One, two, three, four. Your little boy will be next. Your little boy will be next. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

Sara tried to ignore the pounding in her head. "Tied, Timmy?" she asked, testing her own bindings.

"No," he slowly shook his head. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. _"My dad left me untied for some reason," he gently touched the rope binding Sara's wrists together. "I've been trying to unknot your restraints for ten minutes now, but I can't seem to get them off. I'm really sorry," he sniffled.

"S'ok," Sara groaned, her head hitting the roof of the trunk as the car hit a pothole and bounced back up. "Thanks for trying, honey."

"Are you mad at me?" Timmy again asked, the tears slowly streaking down his cheeks. "You aren't saying very much," he pointed out. "I'm so sorry, Sara, for everything." _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Not mad," Sara croaked her reply, coughing at the same time. "Throat hurts. Thirsty." _And I feel like I'm going to pass out again._

"Oh," Timmy murmured. "'Kay. Do you think I'm gonna be next?" he couldn't help but ask, laying down beside Sara despite the confines of the trunk.

"No, honey," she licked her dry lips. _Over my dead body._

"Really? Because I think my dad is really mad at me, and he said something about killing us both," he started to sob, burying his face in the crook of Sara's neck. "This is all my fault!" _All my fault! All my fault! All my fault!_

Sara held back her own tears, doing her best to remain strong for Timmy's sake. She was terrified, absolutely, but she also knew that she had to remain calm.

"And I like four cookies. Do you think my dad will have four cookies?" he wanted to know, asking through panicked tears. "Maybe some Chips Ahoy with extra chocolate chips? Four of them?"

"Maybe," Sara murmured, feeling her vision once again starting to waiver.

"I wonder why Oklahoma looks like a frying pan. Do you think the people who made the state borders did that on purpose?" 

"Maybe," she repeated, struggling to remain awake.

"Oh," Timmy mused, the tears coming faster and harder now. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Love—" Sara managed to utter before lapsing into silence.

"Sara?" Timmy cranked his head so that he could peer at her. "Are you okay?" _One, two._

But Sara remained silent.

"Sara?" he tried again. _Three, four._

Still no answer.

"Sara! This is all my fault!" he screamed. _One, two, three, four. _"Don't die! _Please _don't die!" _All my fault. All my fault. All my fault. All my fault. _

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"What the hell just happened in here?" Captain Jim Brass woozily got to his feet, staring around the room at six different cops. "Greg? Sara? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Greg sat up, rubbing his head. "Sara's gone, though, and so is Timmy."

"Uh, someone threw tear gas followed by knock-out gas into the living room," a cop spoke up. "And we just got reports that Jason Marley was in the area."

"Oh, hell," Jim muttered under his breath. "This isn't good."

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"I _hate_ you!" Timmy screamed at his father as he and Sara were thrown onto one of the beds in an old, run-down motel room. "You _killed _her! You killed her _and _mom!"

"I never killed your mother," Jason sneered at his son, slamming the motel room door. "And Sara isn't dead."

"Yes she is! She isn't moving!" _All my fault! All my fault! All my fault! All my fault!_

"She just passed out," Jason rolled his eyes at his son's over exaggeration, lightly nudging Sara in the ribs with the toe of his boot. "But she's fine."

Timmy immediately pushed his father's foot away from Sara, moving so that he was between the two of them. "Leave her alone," he growled. "Don't _touch_ her!"

"Huh," Jason chuckled. "I've never seen you show any sort of bravery or aggression at all. I've got to say, Timothy, I'm slightly impressed with your behavior. Why do you care about this woman anyhow?"

"Because she's my family, and family is the most important thing!" Timmy retorted, his hand protectively on Sara's side. "I couldn't help mom, but I'll help Sara. I mean it, stay away from her."

"Well that all depends on you, Timothy. I want the money. Where did you hide it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Timmy's face paled. _All my fault! All my fault! All my fault! All my fault!_

"Oh yes you do," his father replied. "And if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll kill her slowly and painfully."

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**Thanks to those of you who are still reading!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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"I don't know what you're talking about," Timmy again repeated, anxiously bouncing from foot to foot. "The police took the money when they broke into our house, remember?" _Family is the most important thing. Sara, wake up!_

"You know that isn't true," Jason Marley took a seat at the small table in the corner of the room, his gun pointed at his son and at the still unconscious Sara. "Your mother hid an extra two million somewhere, and I'd like to know where she put it."

"No she didn't," Timmy denied the claim, a frown on his face as fresh tears of fear slowly slid down his cheeks. "I don't think so, anyhow," he added. And then, "Why are you so mean?"

"Why am _I _mean?" Jason laughed. "I'm not, Timothy, I'm just disappointed that things turned out the way that they did. None of this was supposed to happen, you know. You, your mom, and I should all be in Mexico right now sipping little drinks by the side of the pool."

"I'm too young to drink."

Jason rolled his eyes, cocking the gun. "Where's the money, Timothy? I'm done playing games with you."

"Let him go," Sara whispered from the bed, trying to force her eyelids open. "Let Timmy go back to Greg—"

"Sara!" Timmy turned around, throwing his arms around her neck. "I thought you were dead!"

"I told you she wasn't," Jason angrily stared at his son. "I don't kill people."

"But you _said _you were going to kill me! And you have a record," he reminded his father. "For killing."

"Do you always believe everything that you read?"

Timmy pondered that for a moment, shrugging. At the moment, he was more concerned about his friend. "Are you okay, Sara?"

"Yeah, Timmy, I'm fine," she murmured, returning her attention to Jason. "Let him go," Sara repeated. "You're only going to make this worse for yourself."

"Oh, I'll let him go, alright," Marley chuckled, his eyes narrowing, "Just as soon as he tells me where the money is."

"He doesn't know anything," Sara struggled to sit up. "He's just a scared little boy." Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she tried to get up off of the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jason asked in surprise, staring at Sara in shock. "Sit back down before I _make_ you sit back down."

"Do what he says, Sara," Timmy gently pushed her back down on the bed, climbing into her lap once she was finally seated. "He'll kill us if you don't."

Sara remained quiet, gazing at Jason. She had no idea how they were going to get out of this mess, and things were not looking good.

"So again, Timothy, where's the money?" his father asked.

"Family is the most important thing!" Timmy angrily replied. "Don't you get that? _Family _is the most important thing!"

"So tell me where the money is, you little brat! I'm your family!"

"No you aren't, and I won't tell you, because you don't deserve it!" _Family is the most important thing. One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! Your little boy will be next!_

Sara startled. _There really is money? And you know where it is?_

"I'm sorry, Sara," Timmy whispered, turning to look at her, fresh tears now sliding down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry for everything. This is all my fault!" _One, two, three four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Yeah, it will be your fault when I blow her brains out," Jason got to his feet, quickly walking over to the bed. "Tell me where the money is, Timmy, or you're right, I'll kill her," he pointed the gun directly at Sara's head.

"Don't _hurt_ her!" Timmy screeched, trying to move between the gun and Sara's body. "I _told _you! _Family_ is the most important thing!"

"That's what you kept saying when you told us where the safe was," Sara whispered, her eyes wide as she stared down the barrel of the gun. "Honey, we already _got_ the money out of the safe; there's nothing else in it."

"No!" Timmy frantically shook his head. "Not the safe, the carpet! I'm _so _sorry, Sara. Please don't be mad at me!" _Oklahoma looks like a frying pan! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!_

"Wait a minute, what carpet?" Jason again cocked his gun.

"The Oriental one in the family room, under the family picture, where the safe was! Mom sewed the money into the back of the carpet and then re-made the back of it to conceal the money!" Timmy pushed his father's hand away from Sara's face. "I mean it, leave her alone!"

"Well if that's true, where the hell is the carpet now?" Jason turned his attention to Sara.

"I don't know," Sara kept her eyes riveted to the gun, wrapping her arms around Timmy long enough to shove him out of the path of any potential flying bullets. "I have no idea where the carpet would be right now."

"Wouldn't it be in evidence?" Timmy interrupted, looking at Sara. "Because it had footprints and other trace evidence on it?"

Sara took a deep breath to steady her nerves, contemplating Timmy's statement. "He's probably right," she admitted. "We collected trace from it, and so it's probably still in the evidence locker."

"Well we need to get it back, pronto. I want that carpet out of your police station in one hour, and you're going to help me do it, Miss Sidle."

"They'll never let me take it out of the room," she pointed out. "It's county property right now."

"I don't give a rat's ass _what _it is," Jason tossed his cell phone to Sara. "Now call your department and find a way to get it out. If you don't, Timmy will die."

Sara frowned, hesitantly picking up the cell phone. With her arm still protectively wrapped around Timmy's body, she called Jim.

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"We have nothing," Jim told the assembled criminalists and officers. "We have no idea where they've gone, or what Marley wants from them."

"We haven't gotten any ransom demands yet?" Catherine asked, her hands braced on the layout room table. "Or any outrageous requests for a helicopter ride to Mexico?"

"Not yet," Jim confirmed, shaking his head. "His cell phone is untraceable, and Sara's phone was found in Greg's apartment."

"So… they're just gone?" Greg quietly inquired, his face somewhat pale.

"No, of course not," Ray spoke up. "Jason Marley wants something, and I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before he calls us to tell us what it is."

"And what are we going to do once he makes his desires clear?" Nick wanted to know, his arms folded across his chest. "Will the department just acquiesce to his demands?"

Jim hesitated, anxiously rubbing his head. "We'll get her back, Nicky," he replied. "I can promise you that."

"How?" Nick persisted.

"I don't know the answer to that question just yet, but we will," Jim frowned as his cell phone went off. "One second," he turned away from the group. "Brass."

"Jim? It's Sara," she cautiously spoke into the phone.

"Sara? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"We're fine, and I have no idea where we are," she quickly replied, "But listen, is there an Oriental carpet in evidence from the Stein residence? I know that we processed it for trace when we confiscated everything from the house, and I need to know where it is now."

"I believe it's here, yes," he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Why?"

"Jason Marley is looking for a missing two million dollars, and Timmy says that that's where his mother hid the money."

"But you processed the carpet yourself, didn't you?" Jim asked. "Did you find any money?"

"I did process it, and no, I didn't," Sara murmured. "But if we don't get that carpet to Jason in one hour, he's going to kill us."

"How does he want to make the trade?"

"He wants Greg to deliver the carpet to the Bellagio fountain."

"… Are you serious? It'll take us almost an hour just to get there."

"I know," Sara whispered, "But if you aren't there in one hour, he says that he'll deliver our bodies to you later tonight."

With that, the cell phone went dead.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**Thanks to those of you who are still reading this! One more chapter to go, I do believe.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11.

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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"They'll bring the carpet to the Bellagio," Sara morosely told Jason Marley. "But I don't know if they'll make it through traffic at this hour of the night. The Strip is full of tourists, you know."

"They'll make it," Jason stretched, getting to his feet. "Timothy, go to the bathroom and get ready to go. We're leaving in two minutes."

"Do you have four cookies?" Timmy hopefully asked as he jumped off of the bed. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"What?" Jason quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

"Do you have four cookies? I like four cookies," he repeated, dutifully trudging off to the restroom. "And I hate you, just so you know." _Family is the most important thing, and Sara is my family!_

"He's a nutcase," Jason sadly informed Sara, the gun still angled at her body.

"No he isn't," Sara shook her head. "You have a great kid there, and you don't even realize it. You're a horrible father, you know that? No wonder Timmy hates you. You've destroyed his life."

"I tried to give him a _better _life!" Jason angrily shot back. "I provided him with food, and clothes, and toys!"

"But no love, because you were too busy stuck in jail for being the loser that you really are."

"Shut up!" Jason snarled. "You know _nothing _about me!"

"I know enough," Sara muttered under her breath, glancing at the bathroom door. "And I have just one more thing to say to you before I shut up for good. If you're going to kill someone tonight, make sure that you kill me and not your son. Understood?"

Jason's eyebrows again rose in surprise, although before he could answer Sara, Timmy returned from the bathroom. "Let's go," he told his hostages, pointing to the motel's door.

Timmy silently reached for Sara's hand, leading her toward the door. _Family is the most important thing in the world. Family is the most important thing in the world. Family is the most important thing in the world. Family is the most important thing in the world._

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"What's the plan? Do we have a plan?" Greg anxiously asked, running his fingers—for the fifth time—through his now mussed up hair. And then without pausing, "I'm glad the precinct agreed to do this. I didn't think we gave in to ransom demands."

"We're not giving in, we're taking him out," Jim informed him. "We've already got officers inconspicuously placed around the fountain, and we'll take Marley into custody the moment that Sara and Timmy are safe."

"This won't work," Greg mumbled. "There's no way that Jason Marley will be stupid enough to let us catch him with so many people around. What the heck was he thinking? Doesn't he realize how out of place it will look to be carrying a large rolled up carpet? Everyone will see him."

"Which is why he's chosen to do it this way," Jim replied. "He doesn't think that we'll take him into custody with so many people around, but we will."

Greg slumped in his seat, cursing the Las Vegas traffic for being so sluggish. Didn't the other motorists know that they had somewhere to be? No, of course they didn't, because Jim wouldn't use the flashing lights: he didn't want to let Jason know that half of the precinct was with them.

"It'll be fine, Greg," Jim cast him a sideways look. "You'll be able to make Timmy those famous pancakes of yours before you know it."

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"I'm scared, Sara," Timmy whispered to her, leaning against her side in the back of Jason's car. "And I love you, 'kay?"

"I know, honey, but we'll be okay, and I love you, too." Sara tried to reassure him.

"But what if we won't be okay?" he persisted. "Family is the most important thing, right? I don't want you to die," Timmy lightly squeezed her hand. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"We'll be okay," Sara repeated, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. _I don't know how, but we will._

"Would you two just shut up for a few minutes?" Jason grumbled. "I can't concentrate on getting us there with you two yammering on back there."

"I think it's just a straight drive to the Bellagio from here, Dad," Timmy informed him. "It's one of the big hotels on the Strip, and it shouldn't be too hard to find." _Oklahoma looks like a frying pan._

"Shh, Timmy," Sara murmured. "He knows how to get there. Just be calm, honey."

Timmy shifted his gaze to the giant castle outside of the car. "What is that?" he whispered to Sara.

"That's Excalibur, and it's a cool hotel. We'll have to go there sometime so that you can see the Medieval dinner."

"'Kay," Timmy lapsed back into silence.

Thirty minutes later, Sara, Timmy, and Jason arrived at the Bellagio.

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"We'll be watching," Jim told Greg. "Just hand over the carpet when you see Sara and Timmy, and walk away. We'll nab him after that."

"This is stupid," Greg muttered to himself, climbing out of the car anyhow. "Wouldn't it make more sense just to push him into the fountain? Or hold a gun on him? Or just not give him the carpet in the first place?"

"It'll work, Greg, just breathe," Jim rested the rolled-up carpet on the younger man's shoulders. "Just breathe, take it easy, and get them back."

"In one piece, yeah, I know," Greg cautiously walked toward the other end of the large fountain, his head hanging low as he concentrated on walking without tripping. Practically jumping as the fountain's choreographed routine began, he shook his head in disbelief. "No wonder Marley wanted to meet us at this time: communication will be harder given the noise of the music."

"GREG!" Timmy smiled the moment that he saw his big brother. "Greg is coming!" he yanked on Sara's hand in the attempt to pull her forward to meet him.

"Timmy, hold on a moment," Sara held him back. "We can't go anywhere until your dad tells us that we can."

"Is that the right carpet, Timothy?" Jason asked his son, carefully nudging the loaded gun into his back.

"Dunno," Timmy frowned. "It's too dark to see it, but I don't think that Greg would have brought the wrong carpet. He loves us, right, Sara?"

"Right, honey," Sara agreed, desperately trying to figure out how to get away from Jason without anyone getting hurt.

As Greg approached, Jason pulled both Timmy and Sara closer to his body. "I've got a gun trained on them," he informed the other CSI. "So just drop the carpet and back away."

"Are you okay, Sara? Timmy?" Greg asked, laying the carpet down by Jason's feet.

"Yeah, we're fine," Sara nodded.

"Do you have any cookies?" Timmy asked.

"Yeah, Squirt, I have a bunch of cookies," he kept his eyes trained on Marley. "I brought the carpet, now release them."

"Not yet, hot shot," Jason chuckled. "Timothy, is that the carpet?"

Timmy peered at it, a small frown on his face. "Uh-huh. I can tell from the pattern on the edges," he pointed to the only part of the carpet that was actually exposed. "And you can see the bulges on the bottom from where the money is hidden. That's the right carpet for sure." _Family is the most important thing! Family is the most important thing! Family is the most important thing! Family is the most important thing!_

Jason pushed Timmy into Greg's arms, moving the gun so that it was now pressed into Sara's back. "Take the brat, I can't handle him anymore."

Greg immediately wrapped an arm around Timmy's shoulders, drawing him close. "What about Sara?"

"I'm taking her with me," he rolled his eyes. "How else can I get away from here without being arrested?"

"You don't want to do this," Greg tried to remain calm. "Just let Sara go, and take the money and run."

"I don't think so," Jason laughed, grabbing the carpet from the ground. "Let's go, Sara," he nudged her back toward the car.

"No, leave her alone!" Timmy tried to rush his father, only held back by Greg's strong arms. "Don't _hurt _her!"

Jason ignored his son, continuing to laugh as he carried his awkward load toward the car. "Too easy," he chuckled to himself, tossing the carpet into the back seat and climbing into the driver's side. Turning to Sara, who was now in the passenger seat, he sighed. "Listen. I'm going to turn the car on, and I'm going to slowly start to drive away. When I get to the first stoplight, I want you to get out. I told Timmy not to believe everything that he reads, and I meant it. I'm no killer, just a common thief. So when I say go, you go. Got it?"

Sara glanced at Jason in surprise, slowly nodding her head yes. She got it, although she was skeptical that he would truly follow through on his promise to let her go.

When the car pulled up to a red light, however, and Jason told her to go, she flung the door wide open and jumped out. Running to the side of the road, Sara stared in stunned disbelief as Jason's car took off.

She then smiled to herself when she recognized Jim's car, followed by three unmarked cruisers, following a short distance behind him. It wouldn't be long before Jason and his two million dollars were in custody.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** And alas we reach the end. I appreciate and thank those of you who read this story to its conclusion.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.

**Spoilers:**Anything up through season 11. **As a bonus spoiler**: An episode from season three of The Mentalist. I believe the reference comes from "Redacted."

**Summary:**What will the team do when Timmy's bank-robbing, murderous father, unexpectedly re-enters his life? Sequel to _To Catch a Killer._

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"Sara!" Timmy excitedly ran into her arms the moment that she appeared in the doorway of the lab's breakroom several hours later. "They said that you were okay, but I wasn't sure if they were telling me the truth or not." _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"I'm fine, honey," Sara tightly wrapped her arms around the young boy, leaning over so that she was at his level. "Are you okay?" she asked, peering into his face for any lingering signs of trauma.

"Greg gave me four cookies," Timmy happily pulled away from her, leading her over to the table where Greg, Jim, Catherine, Nick, and Ray were all seated, sipping various hot beverages. "He didn't have the Chips Ahoy with the extra chocolate chips, though, but they're still pretty good," he handed her one. _One, two._

"They _are_ good," Sara agreed, nibbling around the edges of the cookie as she took a seat. "So you got him, I'm assuming?" she quietly asked Jim.

"We got him," Jim confirmed, taking a sip of his coffee. "We got both him and the carpet, which he was trying to wrestle out of the back seat of his car."

"Timmy," Greg hesitantly cleared his throat, leaning on his elbows as he gazed across the table at his little brother.

"Hmm?" _Three, four._

"We have to talk about the carpet, Squirt," he softly told him.

"Yeah, I loved that carpet," Timmy brightly announced, reaching for his fifth cookie of the night. Also selecting three more cookies from the bag, he added, "And so did my mom. It was her favorite carpet."

Greg and Sara exchanged glances for the briefest of moments. "Honey," Sara spoke up. "We need to know about the money. We can't find any of it in the carpet."

"That's because there_ isn't_ any money in the carpet," Timmy nonchalantly replied, chomping down on another cookie.

"What do you mean, buddy?" Jim interjected, leaning forward in his chair. "Do you think that your mom or dad moved the money somewhere else before we got to it?"

"Nope, definitely not." _Oklahoma looks like a frying pan._

Sara furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "So… where is the money, then?"

"There was never any money to begin with," Timmy continued to stare at his cookie as if they were merely discussing the trivialities of the weather. "My mom didn't have an extra two million dollars, or if she did, she didn't tell me where she put it." _One, two, three, four._

"So… you made up the whole thing?" Sara asked in surprise.

"Yep," Timmy took another bite of his cookie. "I was going to tell my dad that the carpet itself was worth two million dollars, but I was afraid that he'd watched The Mentalist last week, and that he'd know that I was lying. Do you think Patrick Jane likes cookies?"

"But why'd you tell him anything at all?" Greg persisted, stunned at what he was hearing.

Timmy shrugged, a small smile on his face. "My dad was convinced that I knew where the money was, and he wasn't going to stop threatening us until I told him what he wanted to hear. I was afraid that he'd kill Sara if I didn't do something soon, so I told him something that would lead him directly to you guys. Pretty cool, huh?" _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four._

"Brilliant," Sara murmured, pulling Timmy into a tight hug. "Your quick thinking saved my life, honey."

"So you aren't mad about the math test?" he asked her.

"No, I'm definitely not mad about the math test," she kissed the top of his head, despite knowing that he might feel embarrassed.

"And you're not mad that I lied to my dad, Greg? You don't seem too happy about what I did." _Your little boy will be next._

"It's not that, Squirt," Greg smirked. "I'm not even remotely close to being mad at you. I'm just insanely impressed that my little brother is the bravest and smartest person in the world."

"Do you really mean that?" Timmy asked, a huge smile on his face.

"I do," Greg raised his hand for a high five. "I really, truly do."

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"Are you sure that there aren't any cookies on the menu?" Timmy asked Sara and Greg as they approached the medieval dinner at the Excalibur hotel.

"There aren't any cookies," Sara smiled, "But I think you'll enjoy yourself anyhow."

"You know what's interesting?" he then asked Greg.

"What, Squirt?"

"My OCD is better now that my dad is back in jail."

"That makes sense," Greg replied. "You aren't as stressed out or as tired anymore, which always makes things easier to deal with."

"Yup," Timmy agreed. "That's what my counselor says, anyhow. How's Grissom doing, Sara?"

"He's well," she smiled down at the little boy, "And he's looking forward to seeing you next month. He says that he has a lot to thank you for. Something about me being alive or something like that," she winked at him.

"I can't wait to see him, too," Timmy bounced from foot to foot in excitement as the line neared the entranceway to the dinner. "Maybe he'll do a crossword puzzle with me," he added.

"I'm sure he'd love that," Sara gazed into the dirt filled arena, watching as one of the tournament riders rode around to get the crowd pumped for the show.

"Thanks, guys," Timmy quietly said, looking up at Greg and then Sara.

"For what, Squirt?"

"For being my friends, and for always being there whenever I need you."

"I could say the exact same thing to you," Sara smiled.

"Ditto," Greg agreed.

"Family is the most important thing in the world," Timmy whispered. "And you guys are my family."

"Love you, Timmy," Sara murmured.

"Ditto," Greg repeated, affectionately ruffling Timmy's hair.

"And so we live happily ever after," Timmy concluded.

Both Sara and Greg laughed, before nodding.

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_Finis_


End file.
